


i don't know your secrets (but i'll pick up the pieces)

by falloutgirl



Category: EXO (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Bottom Park Chanyeol, Hyung Kink, M/M, Top Kim Seokjin | Jin, this is ENTIRELY self indulgent. like ENTIRELY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutgirl/pseuds/falloutgirl
Summary: Seokjin looks… ethereal in the white suit jacket, Chanyeol thinks, and he has two seconds to decide if he really wants to… do this—to attempt to do something.--Backstage at KBS Gayo, Chanyeol makes a new friend, and gets so much more.





	i don't know your secrets (but i'll pick up the pieces)

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely self indulgent. like... ENTIRELY. also, this is for all the bitches who watched KBS GAYO and felt THINGS when Seokjin and Chanyeol kept flirting with each other. man I was literally DYING... this ship has been a guilty pleasure of mine for like six months... they fed us so WELL.... JINYEOL1STWIN! 
> 
> also, as an aside, I won't tolerate ANY hateful comments about Chanyeol or Soekjin on this fic. Or EXO and BTS, for that matter. I'll just delete them or report them for abuse. If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything! And as we used to say in fic circles back in the old days, Don't Like Don't Read!!!! BAHAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> For the rest of my Jinyeol stans....THIS ONES FOR YOU BABIES!!!!!!!!

“You’re really handsome,” Chanyeol says backstage at KBS Gayo, once everything is all said and done, once the performances are all over and he can finally,  _ finally,  _ catch his breath. 

“I know,” Seokjin replies easily, eyes twinkling in mirth. He looks… ethereal in the white suit jacket, Chanyeol thinks, and he has two seconds to decide if he really wants to…  _ do  _ this—to attempt to do  _ something _ . 

Chanyeol puts his head down at Seokjin’s response, his easy confidence making Chanyeol’s ears burn. 

“You’re very handsome, too, Chanyeol-ssi,” Seokjin says, eyes burning with—

More of that something that plagued Chanyeol the whole night, more of that mirth, more of that chaotic mysticism that seems to follow Seokjin’s every movement. 

“I know,” Chanyeol replies, repeating Seokjin’s earlier response. He gets to watch the way Seokjin’s ears turn bright red, as his loud bark of a laugh bubbles its way out of his chest and he can’t seem to look Chanyeol in the eyes. He’s  _ embarrassed,  _ Chanyeol seems to realize belatedly. 

Chanyeol’s already shed off his black jacket from the last group stage performance and he stands in front of Seokjin in just a skin tight black button up with little silver crosses dotted all over. It’s ironic, his shirt, and Chanyeol snorts to himself.

He looks over at Seokjin, follows the shape of his plump lips, the curve of his mouth. Chanyeol  _ flexes  _ his biceps, curiously, and the way Seokjin’s eyes follow the movement is enough to make Chanyeol’s blood pump faster through his veins. 

_ “ _ Call me  _ hyung _ ,” Chanyeol adds, belatedly, “we don’t need formalities.” He smiles, sharp, all teeth.

Seokjin seems to flush at the implication, and seems about ready to object—they’re only a week a part of course, Chanyeol googled him last year the moment KBS announced they would MC together, back before he had these  _ arms,  _ this  _ body,  _ and a penchant for  _ never losing.  _

Seokjin’s mouth curls up in a dangerously innocent smile, and he says, “Okay, Chanyeol hyung,” his voice lilting on the word. 

It sends a rush more of that  _ something  _ into Chanyeol’s gut, the pure fire that leaves him curling his toes in his nice dress shoes. His cheeks burn, when he looks at Seokjin, and he realizes what he’s feeling is pure, unadulterated,  _ lust.  _

Seokjin’s ears are bright red, a contrast to the poker face he’s trying so hard to keep up. Far off in the distance, out of the corner of his eye, Chanyeol can see his other members—and perhaps also Seokjin’s—running around backstage trying to find them. But they’ve cultivated this little bubble here—in the midst of the chaos—cultivated a tiny section off just for themselves. Just for—

“Text me sometime,” Chanyeol says easily, with all the confidence he can muster while looking at Seokjin. There’s something incredible about talking to a beautiful man who has  _ no idea  _ how much of a blundering idiot Chanyeol can be in  _ real  _ life. He can only hope Baekhyun never gets to Seokjin, never reveals Chanyeol’s real nature—lest the confident facade he’s carefully trying to cultivate around his man crumble before its began. Chanyeol flexes again one more time for good measure. 

He watches Seokjin’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat, eyes glued to the strain of the button up against Chanyeol’s biceps. He’s  _ reveling  _ in the attention. And if Chanyeol wasn’t trying to impress Seokjin, he’d be absolutely  _ preening.  _

Seokjin looks up at him, a slight glint playing in his eyes—mischievous. Chanyeol’s hoping he hasn’t caught on entirely yet, hoping the illusion of him being  _ cool  _ hasn’t entirely withered away. 

“Here’s my number,” Seokjin says, and starts reciting it. Chanyeol fumbles once to input it quickly into his phone, a motion he hopes went unnoticed. Seokjin doesn’t say anything so Chanyeol thinks he’s in the clear, and the sweat against the back of his neck comes to the forefront of his mind. He’s winded—in more ways than one. 

Chanyeol calls the number and hears the whistling part from BTS’  _ DNA  _ cut through the comfortable silence. 

“Now you have mine too,” Chanyeol says, smiling, genuinely smiling. 

“I do,” Seokjin giggles, and Chanyeol ducks down, trying to hide the smile on his face. 

Far outside their bubble, Chanyeol hears someone call Seokjin’s name. It’s his group leader, Chanyeol recognizes, but he watches the way the Seokjin's demeanor changes, from coy and calculated to  _ relaxed _ . 

“I have to go, it seems,” Seokjin says, looking at where Namjoon is currently making his way over to them, hair in disarray, probably, Chanyeol assumes, from thinking Seokjin was hiding from him. They are, in a way. But not just from him. Chanyeol thinks of Junmyeon looking for him, probably searching every toilet and dressing room in this cramped backstage area. He snorts to himself. 

“It’s always a pleasure to MC with you,” Seokjin says, he extends out a hand for Chanyeol to shake, “ _ hyung _ ,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Chanyeol flexes his bicep again and doesn’t miss the way Seokjin licks his lips. He grips Seokjin’s hand, long fingers, manicured nails, soft hands—Chanyeol’s mind concocts so many fleeting possibilities—and shakes it. Seokjin's grip is firmer than he thought, stronger than he assumed, and that mischievous smirk is playing again on his lips—a delicious shadow of a game of cat and mouse that Chanyeol feels himself more and more willing to lose. 

“See you,” Chanyeol says, and bows his head lightly, seeing Namjoon hovering a polite distance away from them. 

Seokjin gives him a big smile, and Chanyeol knows this one is genuine. He feels his cheeks heat up at the eye contact. “See you,  _ hyung _ ,” he says, putting emphasis on the last word, before he leaves with a short bow of his head and walks over to his leader. 

Chanyeol runs a hand through his hair, giddy. Feeling featherlight and tempted to text Seokjin almost immediately—but. He needs to be  _ cool.  _ He needs to be  _ more than cool.  _

He needs to be—

“Just exactly where the hell have you been?” Junmyeon’s voice cuts through Chanyeol’s train of thought. Chanyeol looks at him and, just as he expected, Junmyeon’s eyes are shining with exasperation, and his hair looks like he’s ran his fingers through it several times. 

“Getting a number,” Chanyeol smirks, full of confidence. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Junmyeon says in response, before dragging Chanyeol out of backstage, and into the van where the others are all waiting. 

“So where was he?” Baekhyun asks from where he’s nearly half perched in the backseat of the van, sitting on Kyungsoo’s lap instead of the chair. 

“Propositioning,” is Junmyeon's reply. 

“Seokjin, huh?” Baekhyun says, all too knowing smirk playing on his face, “he’s your type.”

Chanyeol refuses to admit to anything. “What makes him my type?” He says, almost petulant, as Junmyeon finally closes the van door and the driver takes off back towards the dorms. 

“Handsome,” Baekhyun says, eyes twinkling, “among other things.”

“Like what?” Chanyeol responds, this time he  _ is _ petulant.

“Come on, Yeol,” Baekhyun giggles, pushing his back against Kyungsoo’s chest. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Chanyeol’s ears flush red, “I hate you,” he murmurs, pouting.

“I bet you want him to think that you're super  _ cool, _ ” Baekhyun says, more as an afterthought. The flush on Chanyeol’s ears gets deeper, as does his inability to look Baekhyun in the eye. He tries to burrow himself closer to Junmyeon, who’s sitting next to him, but their height difference makes it laughable.

“There, there,” Junmyeon pats Chanyeol’s cheek, “crushes are okay.”

“I’m tired of all of you,” Chanyeol mutters, to which Baekhyun just laughs.

***

Later that night, tucked into his bed, freshly showered, and blanket pulled up and tucked under his chin, Chanyeol’s phone pings. He debates about leaving it ‘til tomorrow, weighs the pros and cons of checking his phone and inevitably staying up for another hour when he should really  _ honestly  _ sleep, but the rush he gets at the feeling that it might be Seokjin wins out.

[BTS Seokjin]

**Hi, hyung :)**

Chanyeol feels himself giggle as he reads the message. He’s an idol in one of the most popular kpop groups in the world, okay. He thinks he can allow himself to be a thirsty bitch.

[Me]

**Hi, Seokjinnie~ what’s up?**

[BTS Seokjin]

**You free after prerecordings on the 30th? I have the afternoon to myself :)**

[Me]

**I’ll make myself free**

Chanyeol sends the message off before he can backspace it and write something that sounds less,  _ desperate,  _ less, thirsty—he’s ready to throw his phone to the side, unable to control himself, before it pings in his hands, and Seokjin’s neat reply comes through. 

[BTS Seokjin]

**Thats a good hyung~ see you then :)**

_That’s a good hyung,_ Chanyeol repeats in his head, “That’s a _good hyung_ ,” he says out loud into the darkness, and feels his stomach open into a bottomless pit. _Oh god,_ he thinks. And remembers Seokjin’s smile, the mirth, the coyness, the fucking way he looked at Chanyeol in the eye and called him _hyung,_ eyes dancing with firelight.

_ You got it bad,  _ the voice inside Chanyeol’s head says, sounding suspiciously like Baekhyun.  _ You got it real, bad.  _

***

MBC Gayo pre-recording goes off for the most part without a hitch, Chanyeol and the rest of the boys running around in their costumes and cheering Jongdae on from the side of the stage. Soon enough, it’s over, at least for them, and Chanyeol feels like he can breathe some fresh air. He’s been avoiding Baekhyun—and Junmyeon by extension—for the last couple hours outside of their rehearsals, lest they catch onto what he’s planning to do—or more like,  _ who _ , Chanyeol snorts—and add in their last minute teasing. 

Idol friendships aren’t frowned upon in any capacity, Chanyeol knows, but when it comes to himself, to EXO, he knows he has to be cautious. For Seokjin—Chanyeol assumes the same thing. They worked out the logistics of how they would meet up easily, and the fact that Seokjin owns his own fucking…  _ villa  _ of all things, in the heart of one of the most expensive housing districts in Seoul sets the  _ something  _ that has been building in Chanyeol’s gut for two fucking days into a tailspin. 

Chanyeol fires off a text to Junmyeon while he’s already in the car that he is going to see a  _ friend _ , which Junmyeon replies with a simple  _ be safe  _ and of course an easy,  _ i’m telling Baekhyun ha ha _ . Chanyeol doesn’t particularly want to know what goes on  _ there _ , between those two, the mere thought giving him enough stress for a lifetime. He drives from their dorms, hair wet from his earlier shower, and makes his way to Hannam the Hill, the giddiness of what’s to come making him feel like he’s vibrating out of his skin. 

Soon enough, the apartment complex comes into view, and Chanyeol parks his car, pulls his hat down and his face mask and jacket as far up as they will go.  _ Discretion _ , he knows. He walks into the lobby of the apartment and makes his way directly for the elevators, the staff walking around not paying him any mind. They’re paid for their silence, Chanyeol supposes, and he fires off a text to Seokjin as he watches the elevator climb up.

[Me]

**I’m here**

He gets a near immediate reply.

[BTS Seokjin]

**Meet me at my apartment. I’ve told my members not to disturb me.**

Chanyeol feels fire race up his arms, a burning sensation pulling deep in his gut. All too soon, the elevators open onto the floor of Seokjin’s apartment—on the top of course—and Chanyeol knocks politely at the door with the number  _ 3  _ on it.

The door opens and Chanyeol is met face to face with Kim Seokjin, a gentle smile gracing his face. He’s not in that suit anymore—the one that made Chanyeol’s mouth water—but he’s in a semi sheer light pink nightgown, that,  _ oh god, kind of looks like lingerie,  _ Chanyeol’s brain supplies, and Chanyeol’s eyes focus on where if he squints really hard he can see Seokjin’s  _ nipples,  _ before he registers that he is staring at Seokjin and and looks up at his face. 

That damn smirk is playing across his eyes again, and his grin gets wider. Sharper. 

“Hi hyung,” Seokjin says, “come in.” 

Chanyeol makes his way into the impressive villa, eyes catching at the floor to ceiling windows, and the minimalist furniture that adorns the living room area. 

“I mostly stay in the floor below with my members,” Seokjin says, reading Chanyeol’s mind. “This place really is just for me to relax away from them. Especially when they’re being annoying.” 

“I can relate,” Chanyeol snorts, taking off his shoes, reminiscing on when he escapes to the first floor of their dorm when Sehun wants to be particularly… extra  _ Sehun  _ on some days. “But not to this scale,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Seokjin smiles, “Are you hungry? I cooked us food.” 

“Wow,” Chanyeol says, making his way into the kitchen, which is all sleek, stainless steel appliances and beautiful granite countertops. It’s also, ridiculously,  _ ridiculously,  _ huge. “Kyungsoo would have a field day in here,” Chanyeol says mostly to himself. 

“I bet he would,” Seokjin says, “I like to cook, too.” 

“You know Kyungsoo cooks?” Chanyeol is surprised. 

“Did you think I never googled you? Or your band for that matter?” Seokjin counters, but the smile never leaves his face. He comes up from around the island countertop and gets up close to Chanyeol’s face. His fingers graze the fabric of Chanyeol’s hoodie. 

“Did you think I wasn’t a fan?” Seokjin murmurs, voice low. 

“I—I never—“

“What if I said I have a secret Instagram account? And that I follow you on there? What would say…  _ hyung _ ?” 

“Th-thanks,” Chanyeol trips over his words, mind racing. His mouth is dry. Mind racing with ways to recoup and regain control over the situation.  _ I’m cool, dammit,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ I’m so fucking cool.  _

“You looked really cute under that Christmas tree, by the way,” Seokjin’s hand plays with the string on Chanyeol’s hoodie, “The reindeer antlers and red nose was a nice touch.” 

_ “ _ I think I am hungry,” Chanyeol says, trying to diffuse the tension and hide the redness of his cheeks, “and it smells delicious in here.” 

“It’s bibimbap,” Seokjin smiles, letting Chanyeol change the subject.

“Wow,” Chanyeol says, as Seokjin's hand falls away to his arm as he drags Chanyeol closer into the kitchen. “Bibimbap?” His skin burns where Seokjin’s fingers press. 

Seokjin shrugs, “Eh, it’s not too special.” 

“Please,” Chanyeol whines, facade slowly, ever so slowly, cracking away, “I want some.” 

Seokjin shakes his head, almost fondly, and points Chanyeol to a stool he can sit on near the kitchen island. Soon enough, Seokjin pulls another stool out for himself as he puts two bowls of hot food in front of them. 

“Don’t he offended,” Seokjin says, in between silent bites of food, while Chanyeol tries to restrain himself from inhaling the food in front of him, “but you remind me of a baby.” 

“Wah?” Chanyeol says, ungracefully, around a mouth of rice. 

“A cute,  _ cute,  _ baby,” Seokjin continues, “you’re so tall… ” his voice trails off as he sucks a breath in between his teeth. “So very  _ handsome. _ ”

“I know,” Chanyeol giggles, repeating his line, face flushed and ears red. A laugh bubbles up from inside his chest. Seokjin places a warm hand on Chanyeol’s knee. It burns through his sweatpants. 

“You’re goofy,” Chanyeol counters, unabashedly, “I watched the videos from Malta,” he adds in. “I would’ve taken shots with you.” 

Seokjin thinks a bit about what Chanyeol is referencing, before he nearly coughs rice out of his nose. “Drinking isn’t my strongest when I’m alone,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t even enter the passcode to our room… besides it’s more fun to take shots when Yoongi is there.”

“He encourages you,” Chanyeol finishes. 

“He sure does,” Seokjin agrees. Eyes lighting up. 

They finish their food in relative silence, aside from the noises Chanyeol keeps making—the compliments he keeps dishing out because it just tastes  _ so fucking good.  _

“I would think you were exaggerating these noises if you were anyone else,” Seokjin says, shyly. 

Before Chanyeol can get a word in edgewise, Seokjin says, “I watched  _ EXO Showtime _ in my freetime. Among other things,” he smirks, and Chanyeol’s face immediately turns bright, bright, red. “You make a lot of loud noises when you’re eating.” 

“Oh,  _ God, _ ” Chanyeol cries, burying his face in his hands. “I was such an ass back then” 

“A sincere ass,” Seokjin snorts. 

“You ate six lobsters when you were in Saipan,” Chanyeol counters—though he’s not sure for what.

“I sure did,” the hand on Chanyeol’s knee moves to his upper thigh, “I love to eat… and I love a man who appreciates good food, too.” 

Chanyeol ducks his head down, whine caught in his throat, “I wanted to be cool,” he cries out.

“You really thought I had no idea who you were aside from my sunbae, huh?”

Chanyeol’s non response is a response in and of itself. 

“You know SM tried to recruit me once,” Seokjin offers, “but I thought it was a scam so I,” he laughs, “ _I_ _ran away,_ ” and the sound is loud, like a horn, like a bark, and Chanyeol can’t help but snort and join in Seokjin’s laughter. 

“A scam?” He nearly dies getting the words out.

“It sounds so stupid doesn’t it?” Seokjin wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. 

“We would’ve trained together,” Chanyeol adds in, mind now playing an alternative reality where that is  _ exactly _ what happened. 

“I think I would’ve killed you,” Seokjin says, “actually scratch that,” he puts a hand on his chin and contemplates. 

“I think you, me, and Junmyeon hyung would’ve been killed by everyone else,” Chanyeol laughs.

“I think you’re right.” 

“Sehun and Johnny used to try and steal my shit,” Chanyeol adds, reminiscing.

“Pretty sure Yoongi and Namjoon robbed me at least twice in our trainee days,” Seokjin snorts.

They make eye contact once more before bursting into giggles. 

“So, hyung,” Seokjin says, “what do you want to do?”

_ You,  _ Chanyeol wants to say, but that sounds so forward. Instead he settles with, “You don’t have to call me ‘hyung’ anymore, y’know… I was just kidding.” 

“Hyung,” Seokjin repeats, eyes sparkling, “I know I don’t have too.” 

Chanyeol opens his mouth—

“But  _ hyung _ ,” his voice is absolutely  _ whiny _ , “I think you  _ like  _ it.”

“Fuck,” Chanyeol’s voice cracks, “ _ Fuck. _ ” 

“Uh huh,” Seokjin agrees, “And you’re such a…  _ good hyung _ , aren’t you?” 

“Fuck,” Chanyeol feels breathless and like his mouth is filled with too much cotton. Seokjin knows more about him past the facade he tried to carefully cultivate, past the biceps and the deep voice, and the  _ height _ . For fuck’s sake, he’s seen  _ EXO Showtime _ . Seokjin both knows too much, and not enough. He’s a fucking  _ fan _ , Chanyeol thinks, trembling,  _ and I’m his fan too,  _ his brain supplies.

“Come to my room, hyung?” Seokjin’s voice just skirting the line of absolutely  _ greasy _ . Chanyeol wants to play it off, pretend that Seokjin calling him  _ hyung _ isn’t doing something to his body, his mind. He wants to go back to backstage at gayo, when he had the upper hand, when he could flex in his tight button down and stare at the way that Seokjin’s eyes would follow the movement of muscle. 

Chanyeol wants to go back to not knowing that Seokjin knew about him past their short stint as MCs—both this year and last—wants to go back to being the cool, sauve, and totally  _ put  _ together member of EXO, that he had so hopefully built up for himself in his head. Chanyeol wants to erase his  _ Showtime  _ self from Jin’s mind, basically,  _ dear God _ ,  _ please _ , and then hide under a rock for an indefinite amount of time.

“Hyung?” Seokjin says, and Chanyeol realizes he’s put the dishes away and cleaned the island.

“I’m coming,” Chanyeol replies, “I am coming,” he repeats to himself.

“In more ways than one, I hope,” Seokjin smirks, before prancing off to his room, and Chanyeol likes the skip in his step, likes the way he moves. He races after him, laugh and smile breaking out across his face.

***

Chanyeol would pay more attention to Seokjin’s room if it was any other time, he tells himself. He would absolutely love to have Seokjin explain the ins and outs of his decorating choices, how things that look absolutely  _ gaudy _ somehow work together. But currently, Chanyeol’s back is pressed against what feels like one thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, his head resting against the softest fucking pillow he’s ever laid down on. His hoodie is off, lost somewhere in the floor of Seokjin’s room, and Chanyeol wonders how he’s been able to wear nothing but that sheer fucking nightgown this entire time, how his nipples didn’t fucking freeze off between opening the front door to eating food, to casually leaving a burning handprint against Chanyeol’s inner thigh. Seokjin is more than meets the eye, and Chanyeol feels an unbidden smile rise on his face when he thinks about it.

“What’re you thinking about that has you so happy?” Seokjin asks.

“You,” Chanyeol replies, absolutely honestly, and Seokjin looks taken aback by his words, before he presses his face against Chanyeol’s chest to hide it.

“You’re so fucking honest,” Seokjin says, “so fucking genuine.”

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, hands coming up to rub Seokjin’s back through the nightgown. He can feel the fire of arousal building slowly in his gut, and Seokjin’s raspberry shampoo fills his nose. 

“Ugh,” Seokjin says, “Can I be honest, hyung?”

“Has there been a time tonight that you weren’t?”

Seokjin playfully bats Chanyeol’s chest, before he pushes himself up and looks into his eyes, “I want to ruin you.”

Chanyeol feels his gut clench, feels the goosebumps that race up his arms. The shudder that wracks through him. 

“Will you let me, hyung? Will you let Seokjinnie  _ ruin  _ you?”

“Oh my  _ fucking  _ God,” Chanyeol whines, and throws an arm over his face to cover his eyes. “Holy shit, Jin,” he says, nickname coming out automatically. “Please, please, please, yes.”

“You beg so nicely…  _ hyung _ ,” Seokjin murmurs, swinging one of his legs over in a move to straddle Chanyeol’s hips. 

“Please,” Chanyeol repeats breathlessly, not sure of what else to say. He reaches his hands out, one to cup Seokjin’s face and the other to trace a finger along his collarbone.

“You have such a youthful face,” Chanyeol says.

“Oh, god, yes,” Seokjin says, taking off the nightgown, “say that again, hyung.”

“What?”

“Call me young,” he says, now in nothing but boxer briefs and a shy smile playing at the corner of his lips, Seokjin puts his hand over the one Chanyeol has on his face, “my members like to call me an old man.”

Chanyeol snorts, “You’re hardly old,” he whispers, “you’re young.”

“Oh yes!” Seokjin says, and throws his head back, Chanyeol laughs so hard he feels tears forming at his eyes. Seokjin’s voice is melodic to his ears. He cackles and moves Chanyeol’s hands to his shoulders.

A light bulb clicks off in Chanyeol’s head. “You like calling me hyung, don’t you?”

Seokjin shrugs. “You like hearing it.”

“Touché,” he replies. Chanyeol rubs his thumbs into the dips at Seokjin’s collarbones. 

“It’s nice to be the younger one for a change,” Seokjin murmurs.

Chanyeol watches the way Seokjin’s eyes close, head leaning slightly back. “Please kiss me,” Chanyeol asks.

“Of course, hyung.” Seokjin says, before crowding up into Chanyeol’s space, planting his firm, plump lips, directly onto Chanyeol’s own. “Mmm,” Seokjin moans, when Chanyeol opens his mouth for the kiss, “ _ bibimbap _ .”

Chanyeol laughs into Seokjin’s mouth, and he uses that opportunity to take the lead of the kiss. He grips Chanyeol’s cheek in his hand, as he licks over the roof of Chanyeol’s mouth, barely caressing Chanyeol’s tongue with his own. The kiss is wet and elegant—more than Chanyeol was expecting, and there’s not nearly as much spit as he was anticipating. He moans, guttural, into Seokjin’s mouth, as Seokjin bites on his bottom lip and drags it out. “You’re so pretty,” Seokjin murmurs, and Chanyeol’s face heats up, “the prettiest one, sweetie.”

“ _ Stop _ ,” Chanyeol cries, cheeks blushing, Seokjin must know, right? He must know about Chanyeol telling his fans… telling them how he wants to be called  _ pretty one. Sweetie. Baby.  _

“Baby hyung,” Seokjin whispers against the shell of Chanyeol’s ear, before nipping it with his teeth. Automatically, Chanyeol’s hips buck up, in response. 

“Take these off,” Seokjin pulls against Chanyeol’s sweatpants, and Chanyeol lifts his hips up to help him. He tosses them somewhere in the same direction that his hoodie is in, a far distance from his current state of mind. Now they’re both down to just their boxers, and Chanyeol gulps. Being gay is one thing. Being an idol is another thing. They’re not mutually exclusive, not by a long shot, but being a  _ gay idol  _ is still what simmers in the back of Chanyeol’s mind when he thinks about his image, when he thinks about his fans, when he thinks about how he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone that loves him, shatter any illusion they may have built up about him, all over some preconceived notion of his sexuality. Chanyeol thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Seokjin is a warm weight above his body, hovering, holding, with bated breath, and Chanyeol wants. He wants so  _ badly _ . But he can’t conceptualize a way to move forward from here.  _ Who will know? Who will talk? What will happen if the public finds out? _

“We don’t have to do anything but make out,” Seokjin’s voice cuts through the fog in Chanyeol’s head, like he’s a mindreader, like he knew exactly what  _ worst case scenario  _ thoughts were flashing like neon signs in Chanyeol’s head.

“I get it,” Seokjin adds, “I  _ know _ ,” he says, and his line from earlier, the line that started this all really, comes back full-force into Chanyeol’s mind. Of course, Seokjin knows. Of  _ course _ . He’s in one of the most popular bands in the entire fucking world—his middle name is  _ discretion _ at this point. And Chanyeol can see the burning desire in Seokjin’s eyes, as he looks at Chanyeol head on, but also. The underlying glimmer of  _ understanding,  _ of sensing someone’s limits, of knowing the trials of being undercover in a life that makes you so  _ exposed _ . 

“I want you,” Chanyeol breathes out, mind made up.  _ If anyone gets it, it’s him _ , he tells himself, “I really, really, want you.”

“Fuck, good,” Seokjin says, smiling. His lips are swollen from all their kissing. “Cause I really want you too.”

Chanyeol giggles without warning and they both move to take their boxers off, Chanyeol’s cock hitting against his abdomen. 

“Jesus,” Seokjin says, looking in awe, “one day, I want to sit on that,” he smirks. Chanyeol smiles at the implication that there will be another time. Another place.  _ Another day _ . 

“But it’s really hard to do the choreography to ‘ _ IDOL _ ’ if I’m limping,” Seokjin adds, to which Chanyeol nearly rolls off the bed in laughter. His dick has remained hard this entire time, and he finds it amazing that he and Seokjin can laugh and squawk and nearly fall over each other in their giddiness and stupidity and still remain just as equally turned on. 

Chanyeol looks at Seokjin’s cock where it’s hard and curved, jutting out slightly from his abdomen. “That looks delicious,” Chanyeol blurts out, which wins him a snort from Seokjin. 

“Better than the bibimbap?”

“Guess I’ll have to taste,” Chanyeol teases.

“You will,” Seokjin says, from where he’s now fit himself between Chanyeol’s thighs. He nudges Chanyeol’s legs with his hand and Chanyeol spreads them wider. “But good hyungs are patient.” 

Chanyeol gasps at the same time that Seokjin takes his cock into his mouth. Plump lips fitting over the head of Chanyeol’s dick as he sucks loudly. Seokjin licks the underside of Chanyeol’s cock, attention on the vein, using both his hands to circle around what he cannot fit into his mouth. Chanyeol throws his head back against these dangerously soft pillows, and grips his hands in the bedsheets, too timid to grab Seokjin’s hair, and too timid to look at the way his cock disappears into Seokjin’s mouth lest he come  _ too  _ early and embarrass himself.

He feels Seokjin remove his mouth and rest his cheek against Chanyeol’s abdomen. “I would deep throat you but I have to sing tomorrow,” Seokjin says, and Chanyeol makes eye contact with him. He looks  _ disappointed _ almost.

“There’s always a next time,” Chanyeol says, mind a little too giddy, a little too hopeful.

“You’re right,” Seokjin runs his tongue over the slit of Chanyeol’s cock, “there is.” 

Chanyeol meets the intensity of his gaze. 

“Don’t look away hyung,” Seokjin says, “eyes on me,” and he takes Chanyeol’s cock in his mouth once again. Chanyeol feels his hips stutter, and his hand reaches out to touch, before he stops in the middle unsure. Seokjin sees him, and grabs his hand, guides it to his head. Chanyeol relishes the feel of Seokjin’s hair against his fingers. He scratches lightly at his scalp, and feels more than hears Seokjin’s moan. Right around his dick.

“Oh fuck,” Chanyeol gasps out, legs shaking. He hasn’t stopped looking at Seokjin. He  _ always  _ does what he’s told. Chanyeol runs his fingers against Seokjin’s scalp again, just to feel his moan one more time. 

Seokjin pulls off, face wet and lips bright red, before he jumps up and straddles Chanyeol’s waist, arms on either side of Chanyeol’s head. He kisses him fiercely, unabashedly, and sloppy, a change up from the elegant way he led their first kiss. Chanyeol thinks he likes this Seokjin better, the one that’s less put together, more silly, more goofy, more off kilter in ways that Chanyeol can knowingly match. He revels in the way that Seokjin steals the lead, the way he presses his fingers deep into Chanyeol’s cheek and jaw, controlling his movements, leading, showcasing. Seokjin’s confidence is shiny and booming, especially when he’s reckless. When that sliver of the chaotic mysticism that drew Chanyeol in the first time gets to shine through.

They pull away for air, and for Seokjin to dig into his bedside table for his supplies. He hands the lube to Chanyeol first, a clear offer. A clear suggestion if he wants to change the pace. For all of Seokjin’s brashness, his ability to pick up on the subtle ways he could flip the atmosphere of the setting really shows. He’s  _ observant _ , Chanyeol notes, a near superpower like ability to read a situation and play it off in ways that work for him.

Chanyeol picks up the lube and presses it into Seokjin’s palm, “I want you to f-fuck me,” Chanyeol stutters, ungracefully and bumbling. It seems to clear Seokjin’s mind from whatever he’s thinking, and his eyes go graceful. He smiles at Chanyeol, lips turning up at the corners—a genuine one. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” Seokjin whispers, “baby hyung,” he adds on, just to be a menace.

Chanyeol’s face flushes and he spreads his legs, knowing the drill, knowing the way this’ll go. Seokjin stares at him with an intensity Chanyeol has never felt from anyone else, the kind of look that seems to gaze past his idol facade, past his idol career, past his  _ name  _ even, and look directly into his heart, at the bare bones of what he has to offer this world. Chanyeol smiles at Seokjin because he can. Because he  _ wants  _ too. 

The first finger at his entrance is tentative, probing gently, reminding Chanyeol to relax for Seokjin. He exhales deeply and lifts his hips up, Seokjin neatly placing a pillow underneath him. “Are you okay?” He asks lightly.

“Just keep going,” Chanyeol responds, already feeling himself getting lost in the sensation. Seokjin’s fingers are slender and  _ long _ , delicate and fine, and they feel so good inside him. Chanyeol puffs out a breath of air that comes from his gut, thinking about the way Seokjin’s cock will feel, pressing against his prostate, pressing inside him. He’s not long like Chanyeol, but his cock looks good where it’s resting against his abdomen, thick, colored a pretty pink with that slight curve. Chanyeol grunts against the sensation of Seokjin’s two fingers working quickly in and out of him now. Knuckles barely grazing where he wants them to touch, so badly.

“Please, Jin,” he begs, “p-please.” 

Seokjin hums in understanding, while his mouth is pressed into a thin line in concentration. Chanyeol recognizes that face almost, it’s the same one Seokjin wears when he sings—not that Chanyeol watches his focus cams, well,  _ all the time,  _ anyway—but it’s that sheer look of determination in his eye, the kind that goes beyond just doing something to be  _ average at it _ , the kind of ambition that says  _ I won’t just be good I’ll be the fucking best _ , and he fingers Chanyeol with a precision he never knew someone could be capable of.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chanyeol says, hips lifting off the bed as Seokjin prods and prods at his prostate. 

“Jin, fuck,” Chanyeol whines, breathless, but Seokjin doesn’t respond, merely keeps working on Chanyeol, keeps stretching him open, goes from two fingers to three fingers just as quickly and  _ curls  _ them up.

“Oh—fu _ ck, _ ” Chanyeol cries out.

“Feel good, hyung?” Seokjin says, and his voice is gruff, intense with lust and something  _ else  _ entirely. 

“So good,” Chanyeol responds, “you’re so good.” Seokjin’s fingers move faster and stretch him out more, pushing against his prostate at every touch. “I-I might come,” Chanyeol grits out, “please, I don’t wanna come like this.”

“But you’re so good on my fingers,” Seokjin hums, smirking.

“Pl— _ oh, fuck _ —please give me your cock,” Chanyeol grunts.

“But do you deserve it?” Seokjin asks, eyes curious. And Chanyeol knows he’s joking, know’s Seokjin’s gonna fuck him, they’ve been playing this game for so long know, Chanyeol’s feeling lightheaded and warm all over.

“I-I do,” he whines, Seokjin’s ministrations haven’t stopped  _ once _ .

“Why?” he asks, and Chanyeol is positive this man will be the death of him, “Have you been good?”

“The, fuck—the  _ best _ ,” Chanyeol answers, knowing he expects a response, “I’ve been good.”

“A good what?” Seokjin’s nose scrunches up, his eyes crinkling at the corners.      

“I-I’ve been a—oh  _ god— _ a good  _ hyung, _ ” Chanyeol whines, “I’ve been a good hyung,” he pleads.

“The  _ very  _ best,” Seokjin agrees, before removing his fingers from Chanyeol. He watches, with rapt attention, as Seokjin rolls the condom onto himself and guides himself to Chanyeol’s hole. 

“Good hyungs get rewards,” Seokjin murmurs, breathless, before he pushes all the way in, pressing one of Chanyeol’s legs so far back his knee almost touches his chest. 

From there on, it’s a rush of sensation as Seokjin fucks him hard, and fast, instinct taking over. Chanyeol lets himself be opened and used, leg that’s not bent to his chest curling around Seokjin’s hip, pushing him harder and deeper inside himself. 

“I’m a good hyung, I’m a good hyung,” Chanyeol repeats, rhythm matching the staccato of Seokjin's thrusts, his voice is shrill and whiny, and Chanyeol would be embarrassed if it was with anyone else. If he was being fucked to within an inch of his life by anyone else. 

“You take me so good,” Seokjin says, hand braced against the side Chanyeol’s face, he reaches down to kiss him on the lips just once, their slight height difference making Chanyeol have to bend himself more in half for their aim to be right. “You feel so tight around me, hyung.” 

“F—fuck,  _ yes, _ ” Chanyeol breathes out, “‘S good, I feel so good.” He digs the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s backside, and Seokjin, ever the gentleman, speeds up his movements even more. He slams into Chanyeol, with no grace, just a hunger to chase after his own orgasm, a fire coming to life in his eyes, all movements and no finesse. 

Chanyeol feels  _ wild  _ with it, almost like a caged animal that has been finally let loose. He runs his hands through Seokjin’s hair, messes it up, grabs onto Seokjin’s collarbones again and digs his fingers into the divots, hoping to leave a bruise, hoping to leave a mark.  _ A memory _ . Something that Seokjin can look at in the mirror tomorrow, before MBC Gayo, and see  _ Park Chanyeol was here _ , emblazoned on his skin.

Chanyeol already thinks Seokjin’s wormed his way into a little piece of Chanyeol’s heart. A little flag he’s put down that reads  _ Seokjin was here!  _ in bright pink letters. Chanyeol’s always known he’s got enough space in his heart for this world, enough for everyone who’s come into his life. He’s got room for one more, if that one more is a hoobae who keeps thrusting into him  _ just right.  _

“I’m gonna come,” Seokjin whispers right into Chanyeol’s ear, and the fire in his gut clenches, he feels worn and ragged, body tired, and lungs nearly devoid of oxygen. Seokjin leans back and fucks into Chanyeol in earnest, hips snapping harder and harder against his skin. 

He grabs onto Chanyeol’s neglected cock and starts jerking him off in tandem, the double sensation of warmth in his ass and on his cock causing Chanyeol to choke on his spit. 

“Jin, Jin, Jin, Jin, Jin,” Chanyeol cries out, at the same time that Seokjin’s thrusts graze against his prostate, over and over and over. 

“Jin, Jin,” Chanyeol repeats, like a mantra, throat clogging up with how  _ good he  _ feels.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Seokjin says, voice strained, putting everything in his power into getting Chanyeol off. “Come on  _ hyung _ ,” Seokjin says, “ _ baby hyung _ ,” he repeats, eyes twinkling like the stars Chanyeol so often watches out of his telescope. “Come for me, for me, for me.” 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Chanyeol cries out, back arching so far off the bed he only has a split second to worry he might’ve bucked Seokjin right off before he’s coming so hard he’s seeing planets behind his eyes. Seokjin fucks him through his orgasm, both hands now gripping Chanyeol’s hips as he works himself up to his own release. Chanyeol opens his legs wider, holds both knees to his chest, “Come on, Jin,” he says, voice breathless, “come on.” 

Seokjin grunts loudly, hips pushing deeper into Chanyeol before he lets go, coming inside the condom. He gently pulls out and Chanyeol winces, taking the condom off and going to the bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth. He wipes Chanyeol down diligently, with that same heightened level of focus he used to finger Chanyeol open earlier. Chanyeol’s cock nearly twitches against his stomach. 

“Insatiable, huh?” Seokjin teases, cuddling up against Chanyeol’s body. He pulls the comforter off the ground from where he had kicked it off earlier to keep it clean and covers them both up. 

“Very,” Chanyeol replies. He feels like he should leave, like he should get up and put back on his clothes and head back to his dorm. He knows they talked about a next time, but Chanyeol assumes it was all heat of the moment, right? They’re both  _ idols _ —extremely  _ popular  _ idols. Chanyeol can’t delude himself into thinking something more could form. 

“I can hear your thoughts from here,” Seokjin says, where he’s the big spoon, of course, an arm wrapped around Chanyeol’s middle. 

“I have thoughts,” Chanyeol dumbly replies. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” Seokjin says, burying his face in Chanyeol’s very expansive back. 

“But,” Chanyeol starts, “your members?” 

“Jungkook thinks you’re really cool,” Seokjin replies, “and like I said earlier, I told them not to bother me.” 

“Oh.” 

“Uh huh,” Seokjin says. 

“Our schedule—“ 

“You told me yourself you had nothing to do until later tonight, a party for  _ Memories of the Alhambra _ . It’s only 4 in the afternoon, it’s nap time.” 

“Nap time,” Chanyeol repeats, giddy.

“I’ll make kalbi for dinner,” Seokjin says, yawning, placing open mouth kisses against Chanyeol’s back. 

“Kalbi,” Chanyeol repeats.

“Are you a parrot now? Or shall I say… a Charokeet? Cockayeol?” 

Chanyeol would’ve rolled off the bed had Seokjin’s grip against his stomach not been so tight. 

“Those are  _ awful!”  _ Chanyeol whines, “Awful, awful,  _ awful. _ ”

Seokjin is wheezing against Chanyeol’s back, clapping like a seal against Chanyeol’s chest. 

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard, and Junmyeon is my  _ leader _ .” Chanyeol huffs, in mock outrage, before he turns to face Seokjin who’s now on his back, tears falling out of his eyes in laughter. Soon enough, the sight of Seokjin absolutely losing it is enough for Chanyeol to lose it too, and they devolve into a mess of uncoordinated limbs and ugly honking laughter, slapping each other while laughing, clutching each other while giggling. 

They fall asleep like that, facing each other, breaths matching, even in sleep, fingers clasped tightly together. 

***

When Chanyeol wakes up he’s groggy, and almost forgets where he’s at before the delicious burn in his lower back reminds him. The bed is cold now, but the door is slightly ajar, and it takes a few moments for Chanyeol’s senses to catch up to him, for him to smell barbecue meat and hear the soft melodic voice floating into the room.

He gets up quietly, and pulls just his sweatpants on, modesty be damned at this point, and makes his way slowly out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. There’s a blind spot from where Chanyeol’s standing, where he can see Seokjin but he can’t see him back, and Chanyeol watches the way he moves around the kitchen with a near dancer’s grace, hands flying over objects and bowls and knives with precision. Chanyeol also lets the words sink into his mind, the floating melody going into his head until it dawns on him,  _ that’s Jin’s song.  _

Chanyeol decides to at least make some noise so as not to startle his host while in the kitchen, and by the time he makes his way out of the blind spot, Seokjin is already saying, “Good evening, sweetie,” to which Chanyeol feels a smile rise to his face. 

“How was your nap?” 

“Good,” Chanyeol replies, voice a little rough. 

“Food’s almost done,” Seokjin says easily. 

Chanyeol nods and Seokjin gets back to it. He sits on one of the stools near the island, and just watches Seokjin will all of his attention. They bask in the comfortable silence, and Chanyeol gets lost in his thoughts, letting himself live in this little bubble.

“Why’d you stop singing?” He asks abruptly, finally noticing what was missing from his surroundings.

“Oh,” Seokjin says, like he hadn’t even noticed, “you heard that.” 

“ _ Epiphany,  _ right?” Chanyeol mutters, “It’s a beautiful song.”

“Th-thanks,” Seokjin stutters, unable to meet Chanyeol’s eyes. He’s never looked more ethereal to Chanyeol than he does right now.

“Can you sing it for me,” Chanyeol asks, “please?”

“Really?” Seokjin looks taken aback, “I mean…” his voice trails off.

“Please,” Chanyeol says, as Seokjin turns off the stove, putting the last of the meat on a big serving plate. 

“Okay,” Seokjin says, and comes up close to Chanyeol. He starts to sing. 

Chanyeol lets himself get lost in the words— _ I’m the one I should love,  _ Seokjin sings,  _ in this world, _ and Chanyeol holds him close, puts his arms around Seokjin.

Seokjin holds him closer, arms resting on Chanyeol’s shoulders. His voice is soft, since it’s just the two of them. But it’s still just as powerful, on stage, or in front of one, Seokjin sings so meticulously, so determined, and it dawns on Chanyeol all at once that singing really matters to Seokjin—and he really wants to do a good job for Chanyeol.

He hides his face in the crook of Chanyeol’s neck when he’s done, shyer than Chanyeol’s ever seen him.

“It was beautiful,” Chanyeol says, hand stroking lightly through Seokjin’s hair.

“Let’s eat,” Seokjin says, trying to change the subject.

“I mean it,” Chanyeol repeats, hand on Seokjin’s jaw so he can't look away. 

“Thank you, Chanyeol,” Seokjin says, voice so soft and so sincere. “Thank you so much.” 

“Thank you for the food,” Chanyeol says, looking at everything in front of them, “This looks like a feast. Did you only cook for two?”

“I said I liked men who could eat, didn’t I?” Seokjin says, playfully. 

“You did,” Chanyeol agrees, smiling. 

They dig into the food, eyes never leaving each other. Chanyeol’s fingers are covered in barbecue meat grease and he’s gotten more kimchi on his lap than in his mouth, but when Seokjin licks the taste back out in a searing kiss, Chanyeol thinks,  _ yes, maybe it’s okay to be late to that party.  _

Later, in Seokjin’s bed, he texts Junmyeon from his phone, writes,  _ I’m gonna be late _ , to which Junmyeon replies,  _ I know _ . The response makes Chanyeol bark out a laugh, nearly toppling Seokjin over. 

“Who’re you texting that made you nuts?” Seokjin asks, tangling their legs together. 

“Junmyeon hyung,” Chanyeol says, “I told him I was gonna be late and he said ‘I know’.”

“Hey that’s our line,” Seokjin whines. 

“Did Namjoon say anything about you being gone the whole afternoon?”

“Well they’re all upset I cooked kalbi and didn’t invite them,” Seokjin starts. 

“Aw, I feel bad,” Chanyeol says. 

“Ah, don’t,” Seokjin says, laughing, “they’re just being silly. Besides, Yoongi’s pretty impressed you’re still here anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you he encourages me right?” Seokjin runs a hand over Chanyeol’s cheek, “he’s the one who convinced me to text you.”

“I’ll have to tell him thank you then,” Chanyeol licks the pad of Seokjin’s thumb.

“Maybe next time, we’ll all have dinner together,” he says, “but only if you’re good.”

“I am good,” Chanyeol murmurs, “the  _ best _ .”

“And I did say good hyungs get rewards,” Seokjin smirks, “rewards of every kind.” 

“You know I never got to taste you,” Chanyeol says, blushing, as Seokjin moves closer to his mouth, lips pressed against his neck, teeth grazing the skin. 

“There’s always a next time,” Seokjin says, moving his hand to touch Chanyeol’s chest. 

“Next time,” Chanyeol repeats, feeling light, happy,  _ serene _ . 

“Happy New Year, Seokjin,” Chanyeol whispers.

“Happy New Year, hyung,” he replies, wrapping his arms around Chanyeol’s back.

When Seokjin moves in for another kiss, Chanyeol meets him halfway. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to alec for reading this and telling me it wasn't bad, thanks to len for suggesting the title (line from BTS' WIOM)~
> 
> and thanks to you, dear reader, for making it through this entire self indulgent MESS. find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/kimjuncottonsgf) where I cry about kpop and other things!


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